"zits" poems
Writer's block has clogged my mental pores
Oily ignorance I cannot ignore
Technology is fogging up my mind
Leaving me no time to unwind
I looked in the mirror today
And guess what I saw
My ugly, stunted imagination's face
Full of gross digital zits
I'm really starting to miss
My former wit
I've got to get out of this keyboard-y place
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 6:19 PM UTC
started wearing surgical face masks
in public to hide zits
i dig the tiny apartments and the drift
of tokyo skylines
i dig the anonymity, paper thin walls
you can hear a neighbor
playing his guitar
sometimes i wish i could fly back
and live there forever
quit living with an abusive boyfriend
Oct 30, 2017
Oct 30, 2017 at 12:57 AM UTC
You give me butterflies
I've never understood that phrase.
Butterflies are
majestic
beautiful
colorful floating snow flakes
in the summer breeze.
You don't give me butterflies.
My butterflies
aren't light little fingers tickling me.
They are strong hands
wringing my insides
squeezing them out of me
like I'm a tube of tooth paste.
But what comes out is an unruly passion for you.
It seeps through my pores
and comes as zits on my nose,
but they don't bother you.
My passion
trickles
from my eyes
as tears at night
wishing I could be held
in your strong
yet graceful arms.
It arrives in words,
that I eventually stutter out as
"Hi"
when I'm next to you.
I sit on a porch swing at a friend's party one night.
You sit next to me
and smile
so bright in my darkness.
You whisper to me,
your lips wisp against my cheek
like delicate wings
and take my hand.
You pull a pen out of
your khakis pocket
and draw a
small
simple
butterfly.
And as cheesy as it was you whispered to me
"You give me butterflies"
A huge smile came across my face
glowing with yours in the night.
I took the pen in my hand
and drew another
butterfly
but on your palm
and replied,
"So do you."
Jul 16, 2012
Jul 16, 2012 at 9:57 PM UTC
She always sits in front of me
Face full of zits
Frizzy tight curls
Tacky clothes
Thin as a pencil
You're so greasy
You're pizza
You're macaroni and cheese
Why are all the girls in this choir so hideous?
I get sick to my stomach
when I look at you
you are the smell of sickening sweet
an arts major
insecure
fishing for notes
following the leader
And worst of all
you're blocking my view of him
You negate the bliss I feel when I see his face
He's looking at me now
But you can't let him see me
I think he loves me
But you're blocking his view
Who else would he want in this section?
And then I glance behind me
Big ***** girl
Blond greasy hair
Bangles
Eighties chic
Blue eyes
Brown coat
Big ****
Red pouting lips
She's not ugly
But by logic she should be
And I realize I'm a fool
It's her
He can't stop looking at her
I'm getting annoyed
He can't control his head
Always turned to my corner of the room
What does she think of this?
But she's gone
I won't see her until tomorrow
Was he looking at someone else?
At me?
I ponder the mystery
Leaving choir and the pizza-faced girl
with a smirk on my face
Maybe I'm not an ugly choir girl
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 4:45 PM UTC
Be happy alone (but be happier with a man).
Be sad, (but don't show it).
Be stupid, be smart, fall for all of our plots.
Be this! Be that! Be YOU!
(Be just unique enough that you are just like our other 1,000,000 readers).
Laugh a lot with your perfectly straight teeth.
(Don't let them see the stains from the acid that creeps).
Lose it, curb it, fight it, crunch it, boost it, control it.
**** him, tease him, **** him, blow his mind
(but don't be a **** because nobody likes a stupid ****
You're not wearing the right jeans,
You're not wearing the right shirt,
(But they'd probably look better if you followed these steps to lose 5 pounds in 5 days)
((and dyed and cut your hair))
(((and put your makeup on just right)))
love yourself (just enough to lose yourself,)
because then,
then you are on the path to improvement.
you are one step closer to that
(hand selected, perfectly manicured, potentially, possibly, probably starving)
model,
(who is still not quite good enough to make it without photoshop).
Because Kate Moss tells me,
“Nothing taste's as good as skinny feels,”
and maybe she's right.
Because this fat doesn't sit quite right,
it lumps and bumps. It muffin tops.
It's sloppy, I'm lazy, I eat too much
Maybe I should cut my carbs
and meat
(and everything in between)
Because my size 8 self is plus size to the ones that control my mind.
Because to be a plus is really a negative,
and to be a zero really means that I'm a ten.
Because to be skinny is to succeed.
And to succeed is to win.
And winning is all part of the system, right?
So, yes Cosmo, I'll pluck and shave.
I'll flirt and curl
I'll cut and count
I'll smile and cry
I'll **** and blow
I'll smoke my eyes and cover up my zits
I'll use my mirror to photoshop out every flaw that makes me beautiful
and maybe, maybe someday I'll be just as lifeless as the girls in your magazine.
Jun 22, 2010
Jun 22, 2010 at 9:49 AM UTC
When I wake up
I don't get a good morning
Or even
A hello
I get a "why didn't you turn in your library books yet?"
"Go clean your room"
"The way you're eating is disgusting"
"Look at all those horrible zits on your face"
"You're so lazy"
"Why haven't I seen [insert friend's name here] in so long?"
"No."
When I wake up
I don't get a good morning
Or even
A hello
I laze around in bed
And don't get up anytime soon
I laze around in bed
And don't get up until somewhere close to noon
You come upstairs and say, "Why are you in bed? Get up"
"You're being lazy again"
"Stop going on those stupid websites"
"Finish something for once"
"Do you have homework?"
So?
And you wonder why I don't get up in the morning
When the welcome I receive is far less than heartwarming
Apr 21, 2013
Apr 21, 2013 at 12:49 PM UTC
I once saw a butterfly, its left wing was broken,
and it fell over and over, its legs crushed with feeling.
What is beauty?
We ask ourselves as we pile powder on our face like cement over our flawed skin.
Most attribute "beauty" as a physical trait, something you are either born with
or must qualify as to achieve happiness.
I think beauty is in the scrawled message at the corner of a Post-It note shoved in your right pocket
and in the tears welling to your eyes that have not yet fallen.
I think beauty is the hair unstraightened with wide tired eyes
and collaped words stumbling over themselves.
All we know about beauty was bottle-fed to us.
As a society, we have set aside what is and isn't beautiful.
It is unattractive to have acne, obscene to have leg hair,
and a downright sin to spend less than twenty minutes on your hair each morning.
But I've counted the zits on your crumpled forehead
and wrote in the stars the strands of your hair.
Your beauty's unbroken and awesome and perfectly celestial.
I've touched a million dizzy tulips, their heads nod off to the storm and rain.
But you held me even when I was unforgiving and broke me through the icy winds.
To me, beauty is not just what encompasses us, what we are born into;
Beauty is the yet-to-come and what you've tranformed to
after moments of fading lights and sick feelings.
Beauty is weaved into our minds, where no one can touch.
It's not in our appearance, nor in our actions.
Holding yourself high isn't cutting it for me.
Beauty is intricate thoughts, what you desire and feel.
I can't see beauty until you tell me by the dying light of noon
how much you'd love to change the world with your fingertips.
I once saw a butterfly, its left wing was broken,
but I swore it was beautiful.
Dec 7, 2013
Dec 7, 2013 at 8:34 PM UTC
What does it take
To be your man
Six packs abs
And dark gold skin?
What if all I have
Is taped up glasses
And a face full of zits?
Do you prefer
The dark and danger
Or sensitive and pure?
What about
Nerdy and weird
Or awkward with a side of fear
What’s it take
To be your man
My arms are stretched
Will you take my hand?
Dec 10, 2011
Dec 10, 2011 at 4:55 PM UTC
Two Nerds
saw you in the corner
someones lost daughter
walked over to you
me having no clue
expecting rejection
her beauty was perfection
sat down and said hi
she was a bit shy
bought her a drink
had no idea what to think
she was lost for words
we were just two nerds
pocket protectors and glasses
passing each other mystical gases
laughing at our silly jokes
lighting each others smokes
people couldn't help but stare
who cares if we're square
was this luck or fate
found me a girl,
I didn't have to inflate
she didn't care about my bad teeth
she only saw underneath
I didn't care about her zits
she had incredible ****
that's the story of two nerds
all other stories are for the birds
May 12, 2014
May 12, 2014 at 1:13 PM UTC
My neck is cricking and so are the crickets outside.
The bike rack shuffle, the dance of the bars and wheels.
The knuckles dancing- mini solos and bold duets?
Cars driving by, up in my room, so fluid, so loud.
Hard to swallow, gravel chunks bouncing off the waterfall throat.
Sticky fingers, itchy ears.
No similarity- just parts of the process.
The marriage.
The system.
Massive zits and oddly placed hickeys.
Misplaced zits and famous hickeys.
Hickets.
**** water, stubbed toe.
NO MORE LISTS!
No bruises, no needles and pins.
But what is poetry without listing?
Words that work and form and portray, nothing gray-
Light and beauty and all that is write about the word.
Mar 4, 2012
Mar 4, 2012 at 3:24 PM UTC
You used to search my back, arms, and even my *** for zits.
When you found one, you went to
work at popping it.
It hurt like hell, but I never
said anything, because it seemed to
bring you such pleasure.
Sometimes, I don't even think there
was a zit.You would just squeeze a
freckle or birthmark.
And chocolate, for God's sake, you loved it.
Whenever I could afford it, I'd
buy you chocolate bars.And when I
couldn't, I'd steal them.
You hated me stealing, but you
loved chocolate.
In those golden Summer evenings,
I remember carrying your son on
my shoulders into the pink and
lavender sunsets.
We had story time on the Shelter couch,
your head resting on my shoulder.
But time, as it always does, rages on.
You have your son, your apartment, your job.
I have my river, my writing. and my ducks.
I feed them bread, not chocolate.
And although they wake me up at dawn by
walking on my back, they don't
mess with the zits.
I've trained them to eat bread out
of my hand.Their little tongues feel
like sandpaper.
I'll never look at
zits and chocolate the same.
Feb 18, 2021
Feb 18, 2021 at 11:55 AM UTC
Constant staring at the mirror every minute till I feel dizzy and my eyes can't carry it out any longer.
Just standing there hoping the zits, dark spots will magically disappear
Each night,It's a daily routine of skin care,pampering the skin with pricey fade out creams, scrubs, even out and Popping doxycycline pills.
Why can't I have the perfect skin like girls my age?
'Just give it a bit of time, they'll go' they always say.
But what ******* time?
I'm tired of hiding it all beneath the foundations and concealers.
Even with makeup, I still feel the need to hide the ******* scars on my face marred by acne.
With these feelings of insecurity and self consciousness
There is a Daily reminder of how ugly and unlucky I am
I can't take it anymore
Acne is a curse.
Oct 3, 2017
Oct 3, 2017 at 8:50 AM UTC
****** Factor
old Ralphy McCalister they all called him Chubs
he was a one of kind ****** ball even rooted for the Cubs
he thought he was slick yes he thought he was cool
only thing wrong was most thought he was a tool
greasy long black hair combed high on his head
various sized zits on his face all puffy and red
he still wore high heeled boots to make him seem tall
always trying to impress saying I have to take this call
when everyone knew it was most likely his mom
he'd wink at you and say loudly hey hi there Tom
who was supposed to be some famous music man
working on a record deal for Chubs and Steely Dan
it's funny cause he couldn't play, dance or sing
his best known talent was drooling over some young thing
with his black leather jacket and skin tight jeans
only tune he could play was after eating baked beans
he wore phony gold bracelets and chains round his neck
spent time in the pokey for kiting a check
always looking for an angle to scam off a buck
his made-up stories could fill a large truck
yes on the sleeze meter he scored a staggering plus
there goes another of his pimples about to ooze ****
you know he might have had a chance at being an actor
one thing for sure was he had that special sleeze factor
Gomer LePoet...
Sep 2, 2011
Sep 2, 2011 at 9:37 PM UTC
Gilded grapefruit and yellow tea fall softly from my lips
But when I'm alone with electric boredom
Reading trains and zits
Its and bits
Flowers for her hips
They never seem to get to her
And suddenly it ends
Sep 16, 2012
Sep 16, 2012 at 10:56 PM UTC
We live in a country without the taut and slitting threads of a niqab
So we whisper, Thank God
Instead, we bind ourselves in barely-there strings
Lashing tan-bedded skin.
The pink-and-glitter headlines call GET BEACH READY
And we listen.
We've got to glow in just the right way
To catch the eye of the ever-expectant gaze,
Concealing zits, freckles, and military-green welts,
We brush over the truth about a lot of things.
The taste of rejection is rusty and red
I chewed the inside of my cheek when he said
I'm just not interested.
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 10:22 PM UTC
These heaves and sighs and faults of mine,
They haunt me in my sleep;
These failures, mistakes, and disgraces,
They do not speak of me.
The shortcomings, embarrassments, rebellions
Just come out of the flame
Every part of me that I cannot quite tame:
The hips and thighs and zits that cry "I'm ugly, don't come near,"
Cheering on my bulliers, and bringing me to tears.
Aug 9, 2013
Aug 9, 2013 at 4:02 AM UTC
Beauty…
Beauty isn’t thin.
It’s big and bold and it’s thick enough
To shine through the ones who truly possess it.
Beauty doesn’t have perfect skin.
It has zits. It has scars. It has laugh lines.
Beauty isn’t tall or short.
It’s everything in between.
It doesn’t have long, perfect hair.
Beauty probably isn’t a size 0.
And I doubt it works out every day.
I bet beauty really enjoys lunchables.
It might not have a perfect voice.
I don’t think it’s perfect, at all,
In fact, it’s not a lot of things.
That’s the reason that beauty is beautiful, though.
Beauty…
Beauty is you.
May 8, 2013
May 8, 2013 at 12:38 AM UTC
it is worthless to be sad
it is of no importance
so put your face on and smile and pretend
and these fears will not hold you hostage today
go shop consumer
go nails and eyes go sing your surprise downtown
go wide mouth poem lips
go spots and scars and peeling zits
go flawed and angry belly to sleep
wake up aching
wake up again daily
driving
home in the rain
sing noon and lunch out of yr chest
scrape the depression gray in your brain
forget the insane and the warning labels
say to me how sorry i am in shades of yellow
say to me how yellow is just an ocular experience
say to me bible verses via text message
say to me how nothing helps the word prison
say to me how america is rich off prison off people
say
say why you came no victim,
how we question these realities
say you miss me
when i m not around
say how
surgery anaesthia'd me
say how strong you are for not crying
say how
SAY HOW SAY HOW SAY HOW
Feb 5, 2014
Feb 5, 2014 at 1:44 PM UTC
There are those who have a place,
And those who lost one.
Those who change the world,
And those who are never known by it.
The seen and unseen.
This girl is average.
Like every other.
Manufactured in a child labored factory,
Under horrifying conditions.
Yet she makes the cut, as imperfect as she is.
to live in this imperfect world,
Obsessed with perfection.
Twisted into believing that it is.
Has not enough beauty marks,
And to many zits to pop.
Focuses on high maintenance,
Forgets the festering wound.
Not quite a reject she is.
The bi-product of searching for that ONE with IT.
****** into a fast paced life with a slight limp, and a stuttered lisp.
Unable to catch up.
Yet she hears, and sees,
And knows.
"I was created to fill a space, and yet I have no place."
A clone of every other,
Same microchipped thoughts.
Walking aimlessly on a planet with no room.
Purpose for the purposeless,
Eat or be eaten.
But you can not eat without utensils,
And you weren't packaged with these necessities.
To feed with your hands is primal,
And not accepted.
Live this life until you die,
Unknown and alone.
We all walk the same stories,
Each thinking we are our own.
Some separate, and find a way,
Never looking back.
But for those of us who walk with that limp,
We will never get it fixed.
And in this fast paced "perfect" world,
Where we can't catch up,
We will never find our way.
Live unknown to die alone.
But alas it is our mindset that makes the difference
Is it not?
The challenge is re-coding what we were made into.
Loving ourselves, and fighting for the imperfect world.
Instead of accepting the roles given by society.
That's when we will become someone different.
But it's not easy.
It rarely ever is.
Jan 3, 2013
Jan 3, 2013 at 6:58 PM UTC
okay so *****
fake tans and big butts,
getting it on in the craziest places,
disappointing looks on mom and dad's faces,
Boyfriend after boyfriend makes you feel so great,
on you, the rest of the girls start to hate,
you stole their man, but it makes you seem cool,
who cares how they feel? now you rule!
Master of that Gaping cavern,
that stretches to match your physical patterns,
How do you keep down that horrible stench,
wafting from multiple uses of your lady trench?
Is it pills, cream, or a deodorant spray,
that makes them keep asking for your legs to be splayed?
Oh no..you're starting to twitch
is it a rash that's making you itch?
no worries though, you caught them all before,
warts, zits, and diseases, from being a *****
but was it really worth getting that teacher arrested?
I don't think that's the way an improvement in grades is requested.
and how about losing your so called best friend,
just because her boyfriend pounded your loose end?
I guess you can be proud of the service you made,
giving every single person a chance to get laid,
yes, which you provide is quite generous,
too bad your existence is cancerous.
Nov 18, 2013
Nov 18, 2013 at 6:55 PM UTC
If life is enjoyed,
does it have to make sense?
So much of what we do
is done in order to give success
to reap what we sow -
we never plant flowers
just to watch them grow.
But we should.
So much of life we spend
working hard at things
we don't really care about,
so that we can be rich,
because apparently
money buys happiness now.
There is nothing wrong
with working hard,
but ask yourself
what are you working for?
Me, I want to change the world.
Yes, I am young,
yes, there's a thousand things
I haven't yet done.
I'm still in highschool,
I can't legally drink or drive;
I can't vote or even travel,
but I've stared down both life and death,
and hey, humanity in all its misery
makes some kind of weird
depressing sense to me.
I've never even kissed a boy
but I want to change the world.
I'm socially awkward, I think too much
and don't read enough of the classics,
I've got zits and scars and freckles,
I've got skinny limbs and glasses,
I kind of do my makeup weird,
I've got issues and questions,
I make loads of mistakes,
I think I'm failing chemistry-
I don't even think I could pass anymore if I tried-
but I'm confident and unafraid,
(and believe me it doesn't
have anything to do with my age)
and I want to change the world.
In almost-sixteen years I've had every reason
to just give on up.
I'm not all that pretty, I'm really only
kind of smart,
I can't play sports or instruments,
all I can do really is hold a pen.
I can make ink talk on paper,
and I'm not scared to let words spill on out
my somewhat weirdly shaped mouth,
so if I'm gonna change this world,
I've got to do it the only way I know how.
Mar 23, 2012
Mar 23, 2012 at 1:15 AM UTC